


The Invisible Crown

by flyingcrowbar



Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Princess Diaries Fusion, F/M, Long Shot, POV First Person, Wordcount: 10.000-30.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-08
Updated: 2014-10-08
Packaged: 2018-02-20 10:31:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2425445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flyingcrowbar/pseuds/flyingcrowbar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Princess Diaries AU. When Percy finds out he's a prince, it kind of hard for him to believe. Future king of Olympia? Yeah, right. Tell it to the orderlies at the loony bin. He doesn't have the looks, the vocabulary, the money - he's probably the furthest thing from royal. But with guts and some help from his pretty bodyguard, he'll find a way to make it happen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Look, I didn't want to be a prince.

I never asked for it, never even dreamed about it. Well, I mean maybe I dreamed about it here and there. Who wouldn't? Sure, it'd be nice trade in my tiny apartment in New York for a castle. There'd be some serious perks to that. And when I say tiny apartment, I mean miniscule - even by New York standards, so the whole castle thing could just be a condo and we'd be living large. Talk about a grand slam.

Alright, I'll say it right now. My mom and I are poor. Like really poor. It's just me and her, so we need to rely on each other for everything. Mom works her butt off twelve hours every day at Sweet on America to make ends meet, and even I've been working since I was fourteen, dishwashing at this diner called Gabe's Kitchen that treats me like crap. Taking long shifts after school, may I remind you, doesn't help with already low grades.

Because of that, teachers don't care about me. My public speaking teacher even joined in on laughing at me when I almost spewed lunch during my oral presentation.

I'm invisible at school. Like, literally invisible. I got sat on again last week. The guy just plopped right down on the bench in the school cafeteria and jumped up when I groaned. And don't even get me started on girls - I'm less than invisible to them. It's like I never existed in the first place. I can't really blame them, you know?

Okay, picture your cliché football star. He's probably buff, blond, and hot - your average Tom Brady, right? (Hey, Tom Brady is hot. I can objectively say that.) Okay, you got it in your head? Good. Now take that image and toss it over your shoulder straight into the bin, rummage around in the trash a little, and you'll find me.

I've got messy dark hair that basically has a mind of its own, I'm gangly and thin so the school uniform pretty much wears me, and I've got these thick-rimmed glasses that make my eyes look like they're the size of the Atlantic.

The only person who even wants to be my friend is Grover, and we're both pretty low on the totem pole to begin with so he doesn't have much to lose when he's the only one sitting with me at lunch. He laughs at my bad jokes, hosts the school's news program, and he does this really great impression of a walrus with chopsticks - you should ask him about it sometime, it's hilarious. But I know a lot of the popular kids make fun of him behind his back, especially since he walks with crutches, and I've had my glasses broken a few times because I get in fights over it.

It's gotten to the point where I don't want to bother my mom and ask for new ones anymore, so I've had to tape them back together a lot.

When you take in the whole scheme of things, it's pretty obvious why I would make a lame prince.

Ah, what am I doing, complaining about my life like this? You'd be saying, "But dude - look on the bright side! Now you don't have to worry about all that stuff! You're royalty!"

You know what? Let me start over.

I didn't want to be a prince. I _don't_ want to be a prince. I just want to be like every other tenth grader worrying about zits, and algebra quizzes, and staying up way too late playing video games.

So when I heard the Queen of Olympia was coming into town, it was kind of in one ear, out the other. Some queen from some country I can't find on a map? Okay, cool. Good for her, I guess? Don't go down any dark alleys or whatever.

And when my mom told me my grandmother wanted to meet me last night, I was like, "Yeah, sure, no problem" as I fell face-first into my bed after a long shift at the diner. Seriously, would you immediately think to put that 'two and two' together?

Mom gave me the address and told me to go to it right after school the next day, so that's just what I did.

Fast forward to now.

And I must have gotten lost because the address that's here should definitely not be the Olympian embassy. I squint at her handwriting and then up at the gate's elegant sign. They match. Unless I need to get my eyes checked again, I've arrived - or I'm in _huge_ trouble.

Why my grandmother would want to meet in a place that screams at me to get off the grass in twenty-five different languages, that has white-gloved butlers opening and closing doors for me when I walk into rooms that smell like peppermint and mahogany is beyond my level of comprehension.

The butler leaves me alone in this huge room, I guess you could call it a _parlour_ if you wanna get all fancy, and I just have to wait. The thing about a kid like me is I never like to be doing nothing but waiting. So of course I investigate. I poke around at a bookshelf that takes up a whole wall, and I play with a bouquet of pears - yeah, real freaking pears - arranged in a bowl, and I mimic some of the poses of the marble statues that stand on little pedestals. One of them is of a soldier, and I put my fist on my chest just like him and pull my shoulders back like a cartoon; another is of a dancer throwing her leg up behind her and of course I try to do the same and fail; and lastly there's one that kind of looks familiar. It's weird enough for me to pause.

It's a head and shoulders of this young guy wearing a high collared jacket buttoned all the way up to his neck and those things on the shoulders - I think I remember them being called epaulettes or something, I could be wrong. His hair is swept back, and he has a chiseled jaw underneath a well-trimmed beard. His focused, deep set eyes, even though they're totally white because - well, because it's marble - are intense. I stare for probably too long because for some reason I know him. Not sure from where or how or why. Maybe he's an actor.

Before I can really think about it much more, someone clears their throat from behind me. I'm spooked enough to jolt and bump the bust off its pedestal. It rocks and tilts and I only manage to grab it just before it falls. But its heavy and it slips from my sweaty grip anyway and drops to the rug with a thud.

"Oh jeez, I'm sorry. Hold on, let me-" I pick it up and it slides a little from my hands so I use my thigh to cradle it from the bottom and haul it back up into place. It's not broken or anything, but my ego is because the one who watches me do all of this is a girl.

She doesn't seem at all impressed by what just happened, what with her lips pursed into a thin line and her gray eyes scanning me from my scuffed loafers up to my disheveled hair. Comparatively, I'm a mess. Even though she's only wearing a t-shirt and jeans, she looks more put together than I do. She seems about my age but carries herself differently, like she's honestly got a stick stuck up her butt that's forcing her spine straight, as straight as the marble column the bust sits on. Her curly blonde hair is pulled up into a bun high on her head so it matches the tightness of her expression.

" _You're_ Perseus Jackson?" she asks, like she wants to be sure.

"Percy, yeah. Who's asking?" I can't help but lob rudeness back when I receive it.

"Come with me," she says, ignoring my question, and she walks out of the room toward a sunlit patio.

I'm forced to rush after her and into this courtyard. It's filled with fountains and flowers, and right in the middle of the green grass is a table covered in white linen. Sitting at the table is a lady, older - probably in her eighties what with her short, silver hair - wearing a well-fit pant suit. She's slight and pale but holds herself like someone is pulling a string from the top of her head. She has impeccable posture, so much so, it kind of makes me straighten up too.

When she sees us coming, her lips spread into a smile and her eyes are a little misty.

"Oh my goodness," she says and she gets to her feet. The other people standing around the outskirts of the courtyard bow their heads. She walks up to me and takes my hand into hers. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say my son was right in front of me!"

I glance at the blonde girl who gives me a _show-some-respect_ look. I shake the woman's hand and say, "Hi, I'm Percy."

"It is such a pleasure. I am your grandmother, Rhea Cybele Opis Megalos." She's got a proper accent, lingering somewhere from Europe.

What a mouthful though. "Can I just call you Grandma or... Nana?"

She laughs, more like a chirp, and beckons me to sit across from her at the table. There's a tea set laid out in front of me. The chinaware seems like it'd break if I even looked at it funny, so I decide to just leave it untouched.

My grandma stirs her tea elegantly and the sound of the spoon ringing against the cup echoes around the garden. I can't help but feel everyone's eyes on me, the way they're all staring at me expectantly like I'm going to do a magic trick. Even the girl, who hasn't taken a seat the whole time, watches me with quiet consideration.

"So this is…" I try to find a word that isn't insulting " - weird." Nailed it. "Why exactly did you want to meet here?"

"My dear boy," she says, looking up at me with knit eyebrows. "Where else would we meet?"

"I don't know, like, normal places? The park or a restaurant maybe?"

She laughs that chirpy laugh again and I can't help but stare. She notices me watching and her smile falters a tad.

"Oh my, do you - do you not know who I am?"

Is it obvious? Am I not clued in on the joke? I glance around the courtyard for some kind of help but there's nothing.

She puts a hand to her chest and says, like it's a totally normal thing, "Well, I'm the Queen, of course."

I blink and lean in, like I hadn't heard right. "The what?"

"Queen. Of Olympia. First in my name, the mother to your father, the crown prince of Olympia."

My ears ring as if someone dropped a statue on my head. "My… my dad was -"

"A prince. Just as you are."

You know when you flip the channel on the TV and you get to that one non-existent channel and it's just sort of snowy and the noise is like grinding sandpaper together? That is pretty much my brain when it all clicks.

"I'm a pr- I'm a prince…? Shut! Up!"

"I beg your pardon? 'Shut up'?"

The blonde girl steps in as if to intervene while I have a major panic attack.

"Excuse me, Your Highness, he doesn't actually mean for you to be quiet. It's more of an exclamation of alarm or distress -"

"Oh, I understand, thank you, Ms. Chase," the queen says with a wave of her hand. "Perseus," she says to me, but I can't really hear much.

I'm holding my forehead in my hands and I'm groaning.

"Perseus," she says, more forcefully. "A prince does not groan."

"I'm not a prince. Seriously. You've got the wrong guy."

"I am quite sure of your lineage! Our intention was to reveal all of this to you on your eighteenth birthday, but circumstances have changed. You are royal by blood. You will one day inherit the throne."

A bubbling something threatens to make its way up my throat and I feel just as sick as I did the day I had to give the speech. I know I'm turning green just thinking about it.

Prince? Me? The guy who doesn't even have the guts to ask a waitress for more ketchup is expected to one day rule a country? No. No no no. This is a big mistake. I dry heave and put my head in-between my legs.

"Oh dear," the queen says. "Ms. Chase, water - if you will." The girl rushes off.

"I'm going to puke," I gasp.

"You will do no such thing!" She says it like I offended her to the deepest fiber of her moral being.

I haul myself up to lean on the table and grab the edge, like I'm hanging from a cliff.

"You ignore me for fifteen years of my life and you decide that _now_ is a good chance to tell me I'm royalty?"

"It was only a matter of time after your father passed that it be -"

"Just because I'm some guy's kid doesn't mean he's my dad. Since when does being a father mean leaving us behind?"

I'm angry now. No, not angry. Livid. Outraged. Irate. I'm Percy Jackson, son of Sally Jackson - not some prince who gave up on us.

The queen softens. "We cannot choose our family but we can choose what kind of person to be. And you can choose to be a good ruler."

"I really don't want to be the ruler of anything, especially not a whole country. So how about you just leave me alone!"

I jump up from my seat and knock it over in the process as I sprint out of the courtyard. I nearly run into the girl as she carries a glass of water and I can't even apologize because I'm so freaked out. The butler doesn't have time to open the door for me before I burst out of it and carry on down the sidewalk, determined to run all the way back home.

* * *

"Sweetie, please come out," my mom says from behind my locked door.

"Percy isn't home right now. Please leave your name, number, and reason for calling after the beep. _Beep._ "

My face is buried deep into my pillow, doing its best to block out the world for me. It's helping a little, but not enough to stop my heart from pounding out of my chest.

When I first found out that my dad had died in a car accident a few years back, I reacted to it much like I would if I didn't even know the guy, like he was a stranger. In all honesty, I really didn't. Who knew that he'd be giving me such a hard time from beyond the grave?

"Percy…" my mom says in that classic Mom Voice.

"When were you going to tell me?" I ask.

"When you were ready!"

"What, was an egg timer supposed to tell you?"

Mom sighs and then the doorbell buzzes. Her footsteps trail away as she goes to answer it and I hear her muffled voice talking on the intercom. There's silence and then the front door squeaks as it opens.

"Your Majesty," Mom says, breathily. "It's good to see you!"

"As I you, Sally dear. It's been too long."

"Please, come inside."

I hear them walk into our kitchen and the chairs groan against the linoleum.

"Where is he?"

"In his room. I can only tell by the way he flew in there, things didn't go well."

"He's acting just as his father did when he realized he would take the throne. He was so determined on being with you and the boy… Then Zeus abdicated to carouse in Thailand, and, well, here we are. I should say I'm not surprised in the slightest."

I lift my head from my pillow, grab my glasses from the side table, and silently move to my door to get a better listen.

"Percy didn't mean to offend you," Mom says. "He's just overwhelmed."

 _No kidding_ , I think as I lean my back up against the door and slide down to the floor. The worn-down carpet is scratchy and stiff and I play with the fibers like it's supposed to interest me. Anything to distract my mind from the reality that's sitting in my kitchen.

"He has every right to overwhelmed," Rhea says. "But it's his destiny to rule. We need him. His people need him. He's our last and only hope."

Talk about more pressure. The back of my head thumps on the door, just loud enough for the two in the kitchen to hear. The conversation pauses as I'm sure they look in my direction.

"Percy, come on out," Mom says, desperation edging her voice.

"What if I say no? To taking the crown?"

I can tell Mom is watching Rhea closely, probably thinking the same thing that I am: _I'm not ready. I'm just a kid. I'm nobody._

Rhea takes a deep breath. "If Olympia goes without an heir, it will bring our nation to its knees," Rhea says, matter-of-factly.

I wait a second - more like a minute, actually - and fully process what it is she means. If I say no, it's my fault that a whole country goes topsy-turvey. My cowardly butt would be responsible for ruining everything. God, I'm such a jerk. The guilt of it all makes me want to go back to bed.

But instead of doing that, I grab the door handle and twist it open. From my spot on the floor, I poke my head out just a bit.

The brightness of the overhead kitchen light is drastic compared to the darkness that is my room. I see Rhea and Mom sitting across from each other at the table, watching me just like the people around the courtyard did, waiting for me to say something. Heat simmers on the back of my neck.

"Do I have to make a decision right now?" I ask.

Rhea, who looks so out of place in her pressed clothes, says, "I suppose there is some time. But the Olympian Independence Day Ball is quickly approaching. However, if there is no heir by then, the crown will pass to one of the lesser noble families. Our time will end."

I let that stew for a moment while I think about what that means.

"If I play along with this, I wouldn't have to go back to Gabe's Kitchen, right? And I can buy a house for my mom?"

"If you so choose, then yes," Rhea says. "You're a prince. You may do whatever you wish."

I see my mom lower her head and smile. It makes my decision a little easier.

"Don't do this for me, Percy," Mom says and looks me straight in the eye. "This is your choice and yours alone."

"I couldn't agree more," Rhea says, putting her hand on Mom's.

I chew on the inside of my cheek. I've never been one to really think that my words mean anything. No one has ever given me a chance to prove otherwise. Now my words matter. But I can't make the choice lightly.

"I'll think about it," I say. "But I'm not agreeing to anything yet, okay? I'll let you know at the fancy party or whatever you called it earlier."

Rhea nods. "Understood. In the meantime, we must primp you for your people. To be a prince, you must walk like a prince, talk like a prince, look like a prince. First things first: Princes never sit on the floor."

"What, are you gonna give me Royalty Lessons?" I joke, but the look on Rhea's face means the opposite.

"More like Royal Boot Camp," she says. There's a twinkle in her eye and I wonder if I'm in for a world of hurt.

* * *

Waiting for me outside our building the next morning is a black limo with dinky little Olympian flags hanging above the headlights.

"You've gotta be kidding me," I say with a huge grin. The driver rushes to the back door and opens it for me. This is beyond surreal. Wait until Grover sees this!

I duck inside and the driver closes the door behind me, but I'm not alone.

The blonde from yesterday is sitting in the row of seats opposite me - her hands clasped in her lap, her eyes piercing right through me, her hair pulled into a ponytail. A small backpack is resting at her side and she's wearing my school's uniform, looking as prim and proper as ever.

I glance around for any hidden cameras, like it's a prank. "You stalking me or something?" I ask, raising an eyebrow.

"Sort of. I've been assigned to make sure you stay out of the spotlight until the ball," she says. "Wherever you go, I go."

"Who's making you?"

"Your grandmother."

"Does she expect a lot of problems?"

"Depends. Are you planning on giving me problems?"

"Well, I'm pretty sure a limo will draw some attention."

"That's why we'll be dropped off a block away from school. But Her Highness doesn't want you riding your bike to school anymore because it's dangerous."

I snort and look out the window as the city zooms by. I've _only_ been hit by a car twice and I was fine both times. Dangerous smangerous.

The girl rattles off a list of what I'm doing that day. "After school you'll be with Her Royal Highness for your etiquette and manners seminar followed by speech and dancing lessons -"

"I can dance. My friend Grover might disagree though…"

"Then I think we can trust Grover on this one."

I smile.

"You never told me your name," I say, meeting her eyes.

"Annabeth Chase. You can call me Annabeth."

"'Annie'?" I tease.

She stares and corrects me again. "Annabeth."

"Got it, ma'am," I say and salute.

She opens up her backpack and takes out a schedule. "I'll be in every single one of your classes, making sure you stay out of trouble. You're not supposed to tell anyone about your bloodline, got it? No one. Not even this Grover person. We don't want this leaking to the press."

"What about my imaginary friend? He's gonna be so bummed if he's left out."

She gives me a look, like she's not one hundred percent sure if I'm crazy or just joking. I only smile. She shakes her head and looks down at her schedule. Actually, she's kinda cute when she reads, with her eyebrows furrowed and her teeth playing at her lips. I realize, like I just stuck a fork in an electrical socket, that this is the longest conversation I've ever had with a girl - let alone a pretty one.

"So," I say, "are you my bodyguard then?"

She doesn't answer, but she doesn't need to. The picture is getting clearer.

"What kind of bodyguard is fifteen?" I ask. "Are you a spy?"

"I'm not a spy."

"Sounds like something a spy would say."

For the first time, she smiles. Well, maybe not fully. Her lip twitches in this sort of way that makes it seem like she's trying really hard not to, so she looks out the window as a distraction. I still count it as a smile though because when she thinks I'm not paying attention, she doesn't hold back.

* * *

Grover leans over the aisle while our public speaking teacher, Mr. Dirk, is writing on the whiteboard. He whispers loud enough for me to look up from my notes, "Hey, you wanna hang out later tonight? I finally got _Dark Magic Four_. We could co-op."

"Sorry, I can't tonight," I say. "I've got… a thing."

Grover furrows his eyebrows. "Did you get detention again?"

Prince Lessons, but really, would Grover believe me?

"No," I say, shaking my head. I can feel Annabeth's eyes on me from her seat in the back. "I've got dinner with my grandma."

"How'd that go, by the way? Is she nice?"

"She's very - polite."

Mr. Dirk turns around again and addresses the class, making Grover slide back into his seat and listen.

"The key to a good speech is to find a person in the crowd and speak to them as if they're the only one listening. As far as you're concerned, that person is the only one who matters. Focus on the meaning of your words. If you reach at least that one person with your sincerity, your job is infinitely easier."

My stomach drops when I remember that I have to give a speech at the ball - about whether or not I'm going to accept the crown. My palms start sweating and I rest my forehead in my hand as I try to think about anything other than that. Speaking in front of people is easier said than done. When I'm actually up there, I'm nothing but a bumbling mess, like a two year-old just learning to talk for the first time. Maybe if I just ignore it, future Percy will figure out how to deal with it.

"You'll all be preparing your speeches to give at the end of the quarter," Mr. Dirk says. "Hopefully this time, there won't be any more… incidents."

All eyes fall on me and some snicker because who could forget, right? My ears burn.

The bell rings signaling the end of class. I scoop all of my books up and shove them into my backpack as I join the crowd filing out of the room. Grover was long gone since he had to truck it all the way to the other side of the building for his next class. I don't really blame him for not wanting to stick around.

I hear snickers behind me and don't even have to look around to know Nancy Bobofit is just revving up for another round of making fun of me. I wonder what she's gonna do today - smear mustard on my backpack? stick gum in my hair? shove me down the stairs? She never fails to surprise.

"Hey, Jackson," she says in that gravelly rasp. I don't give her the satisfaction of turning around as I wait for the door to clear. "I doubt your mom can afford you throwing up your lunch when you only have so many food stamps a week." She and her friends laugh.

My heart feels like it's getting sucked up by a vacuum cleaner, squeezed into a tube, and spun around in the swirling vortex.

Annabeth is suddenly at my side. Were my hackles raised that obviously?

"Stay out of trouble," she murmurs. "Remember, you can't cause a scene."

Nancy can make fun of me all she wants, but when my mom is brought into it… I have to draw a line. I glare at Annabeth because I feel like I'm on a leash. She simply stares ahead and I huff.

The crowd parts and we both manage to squeeze out into the hallway. But Nancy doesn't let up.

"Where you goin', Jackson? Here, you can have some money so you can actually eat today."

She jingles a handful of coins right next to my ear. Instinctively, I flinch away. I don't trust myself not to smack her hand and send the coins flying.

Annabeth doesn't leave my side the whole time. I can see that her knuckles have gone white as she clenches her textbook to her chest. Only because she asked me do I keep my head down and walk. I don't want to make Annabeth's job harder than it has to be. I can just tell she's waiting for me to react. So does Nancy, for that matter. It's like she won't leave me alone though until I do. Either I disappoint Annabeth and get into a fight, or I let Nancy get away with everything. And I don't want to disappoint Annabeth more than I already have. Now she knows just exactly how pathetic I am.

I clench my jaw and focus on putting one foot in front of the other.

Then Nancy raises her voice to everyone in the hallway. "I'm starting up a charity for Percy Jackson! Please make your donations so he doesn't go hungry! Save Percy Jackson!"

Annabeth suddenly drops her book to the floor with a loud smack. "Oops," she says and stoops down to pick it up. In a flash she throws out her leg just as Nancy has her head turned toward her friends while they laugh at my expense. Annabeth is so fast, it's like liquid when Nancy trips and falls. Just when Nancy hits the floor, Annabeth is already standing at my side again and holds me by the elbow as we keep on walking down the hallway together.

There's a scene as Nancy tries to figure out just what happened and her friends help her to her feet. But Annabeth and I are long gone before anyone knows the difference.

My skin is on fire where her hand is on my arm and I look down at it in amazement.

"So much for staying out of trouble," I say.

"It only applies to you. I just dropped my book."

This time she actually smiles straight at me, her gray eyes a dazzling sparkle, and I can't help but smile back.


	2. Part II

You know what - I take it back. I can't dance. I know I was joking before, but this is horrible. I definitely can't dance.

Give me dining etiquette, or Olympian history lectures, or even waving lessons for chrissake - just don't make me do anymore waltzing. I get it - I suck. Isn't the heat on my face and Grandma's bruised feet evidence of that enough?

"It's quite alright," she says with encouragement after I slam directly on top of her toe and I apologize for about the millionth time. "Chin up. Don't look down. Trust your own body."

Annabeth is watching from a chair on the outskirts of the sitting room that had been cleared just for this purpose. She's in charge of the music from the stereo system and watching with stoic silence. I can't tell if she's bored or simply doesn't care. But her eyes are on me, which makes me glow.

I've been training for weeks and I haven't really done much improving. She's probably thinking it was all a waste of time.

"Tell me again why I need to do this?" I ask Grandma as we start again.

"It's customary for the prince to lead the dance."

"And if I don't take the crown, I won't have to, right?"

"You're willing to give up just because of this one condition?"

"Thinkin' about it."

"Perseus…"

"Pretty sure your people don't want two left feet being in charge of the country."

" _Our_ people," she corrects. "Do not think of this as a dance, rather a conversation. You ask a question, I respond."

"Are we dancing together at the ball?"

"No. The noble families will present their daughters to you. You can choose one of them to be your companion."

"What if I don't want to dance with someone I don't know?" My hands are sweating enough already.

"One day that girl may be your queen," Grandma says.

My eyes flicker toward Annabeth, whose gaze has focused on the floor in front of her.

"Madame?" a butler calls from the foyer. We stop dancing and Grandma turns to face him. "Our guest is ready in the conservatory," he says.

"Excellent." She speaks to Annabeth when the butler leaves. "Ms. Chase, you may turn off the music now, thank you. Perseus, if you would follow me."

"What's going on?" I say as I do, secretly very glad we don't have to do more dancing.

She doesn't answer and instead shows me. A beautiful - and I mean, _gorgeous_ \- woman stands next to one of those chairs you see in a salon that's set up right in the middle of the circular room. She looks right through me with perfectly made-up eyes and speaks to Grandma instead.

"Good afternoon, Your Majesty." She curtsies deeply and Grandma extends her hand towards her. The woman takes it and clasps it tight like they're old friends.

I, always curious, wander toward the vanity that's been set up on the opposite wall, piled with beauty products. The lightbulbs around the mirror practically blind me enough that dark spots pop in my vision.

"So tell me," the woman says. "Where is your strapping young grandson?"

"Right here," Grandma says.

I turn around and that's apparently when the woman noticed that I was there from the start. She lets out a yelp - more like a shriek - and slaps her hand over her mouth when she sees me. Well, that's a first.

Grandma looks at her, surprised, and the woman instead giggles nervously. "Oh my - h-how handsome."

"Perseus, this is Aphrodite - one of Olympia's renowned stylists. She'll be in charge of your transformation."

"My what?" I say, blinking.

The woman turns to Grandma and speaks in a hushed voice. "Oh, Your Grace, if you had mentioned what I was going to be working with, I would have brought a _team_ -"

"I trust in your abilities, Miss Aphrodite," she says. "The ball is this weekend. He must be presentable."

"What's wrong with me now?" I ask.

Aphrodite just pinches her lips together and pulls a pair of scissors from her belt. She snips them together twice and points to the salon chair. "Please, get comfortable."

I can't tell what she's doing. She won't show me my reflection in the mirror. All I know is that she washed and cut my hair, and put some weird goop on my face, and painfully dug out dirt from my fingernails I didn't even know I had, and then threw my glasses away in the trash before she helped me put in contacts.

As I stand behind a curtain and change into the clothes Grandma picked out for me, I can hear Aphrodite from the other side.

"You should see him. Really, I outdid myself."

"I have no doubt, Aphrodite," Grandma says.

"Are you ready, my dear?"

"I think," I say, not sure if I put the jacket on right or not.

"Then come out! Show off my hard work!"

The curtain pulls back and Grandma and Aphrodite look me up and down. Grandma's smile is radiant.

With upturned eyebrows twisted in insecurity, I ask, "Does it look weird?"

She meets my eyes and again they look a little misty like the first time I met her those few weeks ago.

"Not at all," she says, taking my hand. "You just remind me of someone."

Annabeth appears in the doorway, looks up from her book, and does a double-take when she sees me. Her eyes slowly widen and even her jaw drops. Pink rises on her cheeks and heat spreads like a slap on the back of my neck.

Grandma steps to the side and opens me up to the mirror behind her.

Like Annabeth, I have to do a double-take. I can't really believe what I'm seeing. I mean, I know it's me standing there - with black leather boots up to my knee, and slim white trousers with a gold stripe down the sides, and the high-collared navy blue jacket with gold epaulettes on the shoulders and everything. There's even a gold sash strung across my waist. The clothes actually fit me, having me measured and tailored to my exact size. It's what I'll be wearing to the ball.

My hair is trimmed and swept back so you can actually see my eyes now that the glasses have no doubt been incinerated at Aphrodite's insistence. I've been hiding behind so much for so long, I don't recognize my own face. I even look taller. And for once in my life, I don't look half-bad. Maybe somewhere between decent and acceptable?

But it's not _me_. I see the person everyone wants me to be. I see the expectation. I see the marble statue sitting in the parlour.

I see my father.

"I have to go," I say, the words spilling from me like puke.

And just like before, I run out of the embassy and all the way home.

* * *

"No, Rhea. I don't think he's going to change his mind. He's just like his dad that way."

I can hear my mom on the phone on the other side of my closed door. It's the night of the Olympian Independence Day Ball and I am definitely not dressed to be seen by anyone.

I had gone to school this week as if nothing was special about me at all. I ignored the limo waiting to drive me places, ditched lessons on how to be a prince, stopped pretending to be something I'm not. Grover said he liked my new look, but I still felt like I was becoming someone I couldn't be. I buried myself under a baseball cap most of the time. Annabeth was still on my tail at school, watching over me, but we didn't talk. At least, I didn't have the guts to say anything to her.

As I lie in bed with my hoodie pulled up and stare at the cracked ceiling, I listen to Mom cover for me over the slow rumble of thunder in the distance. How cliché - a thunderstorm when I'm feeling depressed. Could I be any more useless?

There's a small knock on my door and I know Mom is checking on me. I don't have the heart to tell her to go away.

"Yeah?" I say.

She opens the door an inch and peers inside. She gives me a small, warm smile and asks, "Can I come in?"

I nod and she opens the door wider for her to step through. She brings in the smell of cookies with her.

The bed creaks when I scooch to press my back up against the headboard and give her room to sit on the edge of my mattress. She squeezes my knee beneath the blanket and sighs.

"So I just got off the phone with your grandmother…"

"Yeah, I heard. Thin walls."

"Are you sure you're not going to the ball?"

"I'm sure."

Mom nods. "Do you need to talk about it?"

This whole week I've been dodging questions left and right. I'm embarrassed more than anything. I really am a coward.

She senses my hesitation and adjusts herself so she's fully on my bed now and leaning on the wall. Our legs crisscross each other. We used to sit like this as she read to me at night when I was little. Her legs pressing down on me was actually comforting, like she was reminding me that she was always there. I'd fall asleep all warm and happy because I didn't need anyone else but my mom.

"I'm sorry," I say, finally.

"For what?" she asks, her eyebrows knit.

"I'm just not a prince."

"Percy, you weren't a prince all of a sudden. You always have been."

"A pretty lousy one then…"

"What are you afraid is going to happen?"

"That I'd let you down. Like I let Grandma down. And Olympia."

"Is running away the best option?"

"No…" I know she's right, but it twists my guts to think that I had been so delusional to think otherwise.

She squeezes my knee again and smiles.

My voice is thick. "I can't be my dad."

"But you already are."

She catches my eyes and holds them.

"Your dad was many things," she says, "but most of all he was human. He allowed himself to make mistakes, have hesitations, take chances. He was scared of being king too. That's why he found me and we had you. He wanted to leave his life behind and never look back. But he knew that his needs were lower on the list than his people's. Running away would be easy, so that's why he went back."

"And left us here." I point to the plaster crumbling near my closet door where my royal outfits hangs and the dark stain on the carpet near the window. "What a great guy."

"That's my fault," she says with a small smile. "I didn't want pity. His country was priority. But he sent a check here every week anyway to help us. Instead I deposited each one into a bank account specifically for you. When you came of age, I was going to give it to you so you could do whatever - go to college, travel, start a business... Maybe all three! I used some to buy you clothes, send you to that school, everything to make sure you were comfortable but the rest is yours."

"You didn't take any for yourself?" I ask, my vision blurring as the tears start to well. I still have time to blame it on the contacts, but my quivering lip gives me away.

"I don't need anything else but you."

Crying is for babies, but I did anyway. I lean forward and wrap my arms around her and bury my face into her shoulder.

"No matter what, you're my son. I have seen what kind of man you've grown into and what man you're going to be. Your father would be proud, no matter what you choose."

I want to cry harder, but I hold my breath and keep it bottled up so my chest feels like it's going to burst. My mom probably notices how stiff I've gone and she squeezes me tight.

"I love you, mom," I say, my voice muffled in her shirt.

She kisses the side of my head and says into my hair. "I love you too, my little prince."

I'm a sniffling, blubbering mess and I can't even apologize for the snot trail I have to snort back up my nose. My mom just runs her fingers through my hair so its away from my forehead and smiles. She's right. She's always right. I'm being selfish and stupid and I need to be the person she knows I am.

"I'm sorry," I say again as I pull away and wipe my face on my sleeve.

"It's okay. It's what a washing machine is for."

"No, not that - I mean, yeah that - but I'm sorry I'm such a failure."

"The only failure is giving up."

Realization sets in. The tears stop and I finally know what she means. The worst leader is the absent one. I dry my eyes one more time and take a deep breath.

I swallow the phlegm that has gathered in the back of my throat. (I'm the ugliest crier in the world, if you haven't guessed by now.) "You think I still have enough time?" I ask.

"I think so," she says, looking at the clock on the table near my bed. It's 6:35pm. The ball starts at seven.

"Are you coming with me?"

She shakes her head. "My place is here. Your people need you."

I give her one last hug and squeeze her tight. "Go!" she says, patting me on the back. "You'll be late!"

I hold her at arm's length and say, "Thanks, mom." Then I leap out of bed.

* * *

No limo means no ride. My mom insists that I get a cab, but in this storm? No way will it get here in time. I gotta move.

I unlock my bike from the rack, practically throw it down the stairs, and ride off into the middle of what's probably a hurricane. It's so dark and the water is so cold, and the wind is blowing so I'm practically riding sideways as I peddle through stopped traffic and honking horns as New York City has been completely shut down.

One time, I take a turn hard and the wheels fall out from under me. I basically eat the pavement and lay in the middle of the road for a good second before I look at my watch and see the time: 6:53. I'm still ten minutes away.

My knee is cut open, my jeans are torn and stained in blood, but I get up and on my bike. I'm not giving up so easy this time. I peddle harder than ever and the rain is dripping from my face so much I must look like a crazy person. My hoodie is soaked through I'm sure it's adding another twenty pounds my bike has to carry as I cut through a corner garden and peel out into traffic.

Headlights are in front of me, blinding me more than the rain, and tires screech.

"Sorry!" I call when I cut off a car and it honks at me. Think the driver would care if I explained it was a diplomatic affair? Doubt it.

7:01 and I don't even stop my bike before I'm running across the embassy grass, the speakers yelling at me the whole time, and I burst in through the front door. A terrified butler jumps when I nearly slam the door in his face.

I apologize quietly and I step inside. There's a string quartet playing somewhere within and I am seriously underdressed. I look like a street rat who got lost on the way to a trash party.

Ladies in elegant gowns gasp and stare at me, gentlemen in tuxedos and holding canes balk and tut, but you know what? I don't care at all.

This is me. And I'm smiling wider than ever.

"It might be drizzling a bit out there," I joke, waving to people as I walk further into the building. People give me a wide berth since I'm dripping wet and my sneakers are squeaking against my sopping socks. As I go further into the building, the music gets louder and more people are standing around. I suddenly hear my grandmother's voice through a microphone. The music quiets.

"Lords and ladies," she says, and I know I don't have much time so I hurry through the crowd until I make it into the living room packed with even more guests. All the furniture is gone except for a stage that's been set up against the far wall. The bookshelf is a backdrop for a mahogany podium where my grandmother stands in a sparkling gold dress as dazzling as the diadem on her head. She looks beautiful.

Everyone lulls into silence to listen to her speak.

"Thank you all for coming to our Independence Day Ball. It's customary for our crown prince to present the opening words, but unfortunately my grandson…"

I cough and when she sees me her eyes widen. I give her a small wave and smile bashfully.

Relief relaxes her shoulders and she smiles too. "Unfortunately, my grandson was a little late. Please welcome Perseus Alexander Jackson Megalos." She holds up her hand to indicate toward me so all heads turn to look.

I literally have a spotlight shining on me.

Then I remember why I puked during my speech class. All of a sudden I have a very powerful need to go to the bathroom, but there's no turning back now.

It's like the parting of the Red Sea when I take a step forward. The sound of my shoes squelching is particularly loud now that everyone is staring in shock. I must be making a _fantastic_ first impression.

Grandma doesn't hug me when I reach the stage, and I don't blame her, but she grasps my upper arms in her hands and squeezes, assuring me with a single touch that she's glad to see me. I have a lot of apologizing to do.

She brings me up to the podium and I face the crowd. A flashbulb goes off as a photographer takes my picture. So the press is here, documenting my less-than-stellar entrance, for all eternity - no pressure or anything.

"Wow. Hi," my voice cracks and I clear it by coughing and start again. "Uh - hi. I'm Percy." The microphone feedbacks and I cringe. The guests exchange glances with one another and I know I gotta start off better than this. I scan their faces and feel their judgement. Then my eyes fall on someone I didn't know I had been looking for.

Annabeth is standing at the edge of the room. She's wearing a modest black dress, and a red shawl is draped low from her elbows. Her hair is down so her curls are pulled over one shoulder. She looks stunning - the kind of stunning that makes my legs feel like Jell-o and my tongue go numb. Either that, or it's because I'm on stage in front of two hundred people… On second thought, nope, I'm pretty sure it's all because of Annabeth.

 _Speak to one person,_ I remind myself. _As far as you're concerned, Annabeth is the only one who matters._

A weird calm settles over me. Suddenly it's just me and her, alone in a huge room, and everything is going to be okay.

"I know I probably look like a mess. Er, I know I definitely look like a mess and I'm sorry about that. There's just been a lot of things I've had to deal with lately and I had a bit of a wardrobe malfunction."

Annabeth covers her smile with her fingers and it makes me chuckle timidly.

"Earlier this week, I really, really thought about giving up my claim to the throne. I just didn't think I was what you needed. For my whole life I was invisible. Who would want me, you know?"

I laugh even though no one laughs with me. I run a hand through my still-damp hair and cut back to the chase.

"But after a little talk with my mom tonight, I realized that I love the word 'me'. How things will affect me, who people expect me to be, how people will judge me, and how selfish that is. I was really good at being unimportant and got scared when people needed me. Who do you think I am? A prince?" My shoes squeak for added effect. "Ha, yeah right! And what you think should really freak me out, but it doesn't. At least, not anymore."

Annabeth's eyes glisten and I keep going, though my throat has gone dry.

"But there were people who saw me, saw me for who I really am. My mom, my friends, and my grandma, well, my grandma challenged me because she knew I'm my father's son and that I'd get here in the end. And I'm really sorry for making her doubt it right up until now. It just took me a while to see myself too."

I look at her to find that she's beaming and tears have gathered at the corners of her eyes. But she doesn't try to hide them.

I turn back to the crowd - back to Annabeth - and I know it's time to wrap it up.

"I'm not going to pretend I'm the most proper, or that I'm the best dressed, or that I'm the best dancer. Actually, you know what, I am a terrible dancer, so we'll just get that right out there."

The crowd laughs and I give them a moment before I finish. I lock eyes with Annabeth and my breath catches in my lungs. I have to remember to exhale.

"But I want to be someone who doesn't think about 'me' all the time. I want to be there for my people first. I want to actually try, be there always and never want to run away. I want to be a prince. I want to be your prince."

A pressure I didn't know I had suddenly lifts from my chest and I smile wider than ever.

"So I, Perseus - _Percy_ , humbly accept my place as Prince of Olympia… if that's cool with you."

Applause fills the air and suddenly I remember that there are other people in the room besides me and Annabeth, and they're all clapping - they're all clapping for me. Yeah, sure I said I'd stop thinking so much about myself in that speech up there, but it was such an awesome moment, can you really blame me?

I seriously meant what I said though. I'd stop thinking about myself so negatively. Instead, I'd think about the positives because, you know what, I kind of like who I am! I like that I fight for my friends. I like that I work hard. I like that I want to be there for my family. Those are the things I should really focus on about myself that I'm proud of. That's what should be important.

Grandma takes me by the hand and tilts her head towards somewhere offstage. There, standing in the doorway is my mom, holding up my ceremonial outfit and flapping the sleeve so it looks like an invisible me is waving.

I seriously can't stop smiling, it's actually starting to hurt.

* * *

The Olympian national anthem is being played when Grandma and I make our entrance for the first dance. I have to admit, I clean up nice, especially since I was soaked to the bone a half hour ago. Really, I couldn't be the next king of Olympia and expect to stay at a formal party in bloody jeans.

The crowd has parted to leave the room empty in the middle for me to be the first to start. I bow, just as we rehearsed, and Grandma opens the floor for me to take it.

Old me would probably have peed his pants, but the new Percy has other priorities. A line of girls my age are waiting on the inside of the circle, all equally as pretty as the next, and they all curtsey when I pass them. For the first time, girls are actually wanting me. They watch with anticipation while I scan the line. But I know someone (who is not me) is going to make each of them very happy one day, because I'm looking for someone else.

She's staring at her shoes, apparently expecting me to pick anyone else, but Annabeth looks up when I reach through the crowd and gently take her hand.

A new song picks up and she turns toward me. She puts her hand on my shoulder and I take her waist. We clasp our other hands, and - some things never change - my palms are sweating.

"Sorry," I say, already expecting her to take her hand back.

But she shakes her head and deflects the apology.

Nodding to the beat, I start us going. And I'm amazing. I'm the most graceful dancer ever and it's like a fairy tale! Ha - did you fall for that? Okay, if you did, obviously I haven't been doing my job. Oh man, I got you good!

In all honesty, the waltz was a disaster, but it wasn't nearly as bad as it could have been because Annabeth, this time the one surprising me, started giggling and was - dare I say? - having fun.

Mercifully, the rest of the guests join in and now we're just another couple in the mass of spinning figures.

"Thank you," I say, close enough to hear above the music.

"For what?"

"Not laughing at me."

"Who says I'm not laughing at you?" she asks, smiling devilishly.

I grin. "Oh, I see." Then I get serious. "I do deserve it though. I'm sorry I almost gave up on everything - on you."

Annabeth lets my words hang in the air as she keeps dancing with me.

"You know, I wasn't fair to you either," she says after a moment. "I think I expected you to be like every other prince I've met and how arrogant and snobbish they all are -"

"Hey!"

"And I judged you without really giving you a chance. So I'm sorry too."

I'm trying really, really hard not to blush and I smile.

Annabeth rests her head on my shoulder and suddenly I'm very aware of my whole body, right down to my knee-high leather boots and how my collar is choking the life out of me. She smells like lemons and I'm suddenly filled with thoughts of her and only her. And again, we're the only people in the room.

We're spinning. At least I think we're spinning or the world is doing the work for me.

"Why did you pick me?" she asks.

What a loaded question. "Because I like you," I answer truthfully. "Do you need another reason?"

"I'm not a noble though. You could have any one of them. I'm nobody."

"So am I," I say.

She lifts her head and looks at me, like, _really_ looks at me. She has such steely gray eyes, my heart forgets to beat and then goes into overtime. It's running a marathon to the moon and back.

For half a second my brain tells me what's gonna happen next. _She's gonna kiss me. I'm gonna get kissed. Oh God, what do I do?_ All alarms are blaring, preparing me to react. The second lasts forever.

She closes her eyes and then I do too and lean in. We connect and-

I miss her lips.

I snap my eyes open and flush. _Abort mission. Operation failure. Retreat!_ It's suddenly very warm and Annabeth watches me with a small smile. She closes her eyes again and helps me out. She puts her lips on mine, and they're so unbelievably soft, I practically melt to the floor.

For my first kiss, I'd like to rate this ten out of ten - would recommend. Except no! I'd really rather Annabeth didn't show off how good of a kisser she is. Because I admit I would get really jealous. I may be a prince, but I'm also human.

Now I'd like to say that Annabeth and I got married and had tons of babies after all this happened but she'd kill me if she found out that I made any of that up because we're 1) still just dating 2) fifteen and 3) not insane. I've got a whole country to think about now. No time for weddings or babies or any of that nonsense. (I still think she's a spy. Shh, don't tell her I said that.)

We're just beginning our descent into Olympia in my private jet right now - I know! Sweet, right? - and I should probably let you get on with your day. I can tell you're bored with the whole thing right now since this was just one long Life Brag.

But here's the lowdown after the party:

I did end up buying mom her own penthouse. It looks out over Central Park. Swanky. Oh, and she doesn't need to work at Sweet on America anymore. I bought the company, so now she runs the place.

Grover is always welcome to visit in Olympia. He's actually here right now! Wave hi, Grover! You can't see him, but he just waved. He was pretty mad that I didn't tell him about all this right away, but he quickly forgave me when I hooked him up with his own limo and driver in New York.

And Grandma made me mop the floors after I tracked all the mud inside when I crashed the party. But hey, she's my grandma. She can do that to a prince.

I gotta go now though, but one last thing real quick:

I'm still Percy Jackson. I'm still a kid from Manhattan. I'm still like every other tenth grader worrying about zits, and algebra quizzes, and staying up way too late playing video games. I still get flustered asking for extra ketchup at restaurants and I still can't dance.

But I'm also a prince - that's just who I am.

And for once, I'm not going to look back.

**Author's Note:**

> Happy birthday, Mari! You asked for it, I delivered. ^.~ At first I expected to make this about 2k, now look where we are. You are seriously my muse and this is the least I could do for you after you've done so much for me. You're so kind and thoughtful and smart and friendly, I love having you in my life! Where would we all be without you? Many happy returns!


End file.
